


aiming at nothing and hitting your mark

by voodoochild



Series: Dots and Dashes [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bilingual Character(s), Bisexual Male Character, Biting, Bratting, Comeplay, Consent Issues, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Identity Issues, Impact Play, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Jealousy, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multiple Doms, Open Relationships, Painplay, Partner Swapping, References to Knifeplay, Rough Sex, Service Submission, Under-negotiated Kink, minor Bloodplay, references to bloodplay, references to kevin/seth/sami back in roh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-08 08:37:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15926786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: Kevin has been on the main roster and away from Sami for six months, and he's not dealing well. Dean has not done anything stupid in at least three weeks and is starting to notice that Kevin needs a top. Crazier ideas have worked.





	aiming at nothing and hitting your mark

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Iddybang 2018, and for the kinkmeme prompt of [bottom!Kevin still being a grouchy murderbear](https://wrestlingkink.dreamwidth.org/279.html?thread=1111831#cmt1111831). Title from P.O.S.'s "Never Better".
> 
> Takes place a week or so after the events of "see the flutter as the patience breaks", circa October 2015, because I wanted to get into Kevin's headspace during that time. Sami and Kevin have been in a relationship since Ring of Honor, and they're also occasionally sleeping with Seth (separately). Seth and Dean are boyfriends, with Dean also dating Renee. Everyone is poly, guys, I don't make the rules.
> 
> Check the tags and consider yourself warned if you have any triggers from the following: undernegotiation, consent play, dub-con, and/or a person's dom providing consent/limits for them without their knowledge.

Dean has not done anything stupid in at least three weeks, so this must be why he's calling Seth and spilling everything right off the bat.

"So, hypothetically," he says into the receiver, pacing the narrow entrance hall to his hotel room, "if I wanted to fuck Kevin, how do you think that would go?"

Seth sounds like he's dying with laughter, which Dean could really take exception to because he is being completely serious and a grownup and shit. But Seth finally sniffs and giggles and gets out "assuming Sami didn't murder you? I'd tell you that your thing for a challenge is clearly becoming a problem."

"Why would Zayn murder me? I mean, I know they're hearts-and-flowers soulmates and shit, but you fuck the both of them on the regular. While also being with me, I might add. He that jealous?"

"In some ways? Yeah." Seth clears his throat, and Dean can hear the sheets rustling. He wonders if Seth's been allowed out of the rehab center much, and resolves to visit soon. "It's not like they're as open with their relationship as Claudio and Sheamus, or even you and me. The number of people they fuck separately is really small.”

"But they're open." It's not so much a question as a reminder. To himself, to Seth, that their relationship is open-but-always-negotiable. They don't really work if they're too close. "So I gotta ask again, now you got all the chuckles out of your system, how do you think Kevin would react if I wanted to fuck him?"

"How do you know he wouldn't want to fuck you?" Seth asks.

That's a good question, and the answer's pretty obvious. All the little clues that you only put together when you see them in yourself. Certain tones of voice and body language. And of course, a pretty big difference between being fucked and placing yourself in someone else's hands entirely - which is what he bets Kevin really needs.

"You watch our segment on Smackdown last night?"

Seth groans. "You know I have a medical reason not to give a shit about WWE right now."

"You still watch, drama princess. Right?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Shivered every time I got near him for the promo. Couldn't look me in the eye, couldn't stop from stepping back the second the camera was off. Then there was the match. He fucked up the cutter off the top rope, so I had to call a superplex instead. That low-blow act was a planned finish, but I'm pretty sure it was also cause he couldn't get off his knees for several other reasons."

He still can't get over the soft little "ah *fuck*" he'd heard from Kevin during the fingerlock sequence. Mat wrestling Kevin is always fun because he rolls with everything and knows counters even Dean doesn't, but he'd been wide-eyed and trying to squirm away from Dean through the entire sequence. Pink blush across his nose and ears, and Dean's really, really curious to see if it goes further down.

Seth's voice cuts in, softer and more thoughtful. "Have you noticed him on the phone with Sami at all? Past few - let's say, weeks?"

"No. Which is another reason I'm asking you how he'd react."

"You don't want to fuck him, you want to top him." Seth doesn't give him a chance to confirm or deny. "Okay, you should have lead off with that from the start.”

"Door's open for kink, but not sex?"

"I mean, usually it's the other way around, but it's been different since . . . listen, you need to call Sami and talk to _him_. I'll text you his number, just - be yourself. Be completely honest with what you think Kevin needs and what you want to do. I know you think Sami's-"

"I think he's a fluffy bunny rabbit with freaky fast ring skills, but anyone who can get you on your knees in less than ten seconds gets mad props.”

“One of these days, you're going to learn that Sami’s just as much of an asshole as you are. Also not to judge books by their covers, but one step at a time.”

“So I'll play nice, babe, I promise."

Seth blows him sleepy, mocking kisses through the phone before he hangs up. As he waits for Seth to text him Sami's number, Dean picks up the remote and flicks through a couple boring stations. Flicks it off, and as soon as the number shows up, he dials it. 

Sami picks up on the third ring, voice distracted and suspicious. "Hello?"

"Hey Zaynface, it's Ambrose. Sorry for the phone call, but we kinda need to talk."

"How did you get my number?"

"The hot dude I'm banging who's currently rehabbing in fuckin' Alabama. His orders, really - said I had to call you about an idea I had."

"Oh?" Sami sounds bored, and Dean can hear some of his weird punk music on in the background. "What's going on?"

"You're doing a shitty job topping your boyfriend is what's going on."

No sense in sugar-coating it, right? Seth had said to be himself and be honest.

" _Excuse me_?" Oh, *interesting*, that's quite the edge to Sami's voice, Dean is beginning to see the top that Seth talks about. "The fuck do you have to do with me and Kevin?"

"Listen, I ain't saying this cause I want to get you pissed off. I'm telling you that Kevin's in an awful headspace right now, and it's making him fuck up matches, and I want your permission to do a scene with him before it gets worse."

Sami is quiet for a while - Dean would be too, if he were out of the loop like this - but Dean hears him sigh and flick off the music.

“Okay. Okay. I - am not pissed. I’m not. I’m… okay, thank you for telling me, in your own inimitable fashion, I admit that I haven’t been the most focused on Kevin right now, but it’s the fucking shoulder, I can’t-”

“Whoa, whoa. Hey, stop a sec. I get that you can’t drop everything, believe me. But can I ask - when was the last time you talked to him? Just talked?” 

Fuck, what he wouldn’t give for this to be an in-person conversation. He hates phones, everything’s so impersonal and he can’t clock facial reactions and body language. He can’t tell if Sami’s really angry or really annoyed or maybe okay just by his voice. It’s the worst, and he’s about ready to pack it in when Sami sighs loudly and does something that sounds like falling onto a bed or couch.

“Two weeks ago. I didn’t - we don’t usually go so long without at least texting, but with his new schedule on the road, it’s been happening more and more. He’s always got promos to shoot or appearances to make, doesn’t get in for hours after shows. And I’ve been going insane down here because they won’t clear me to wrestle, I’ve tried everything, I'm so beyond frustrated, and I didn’t want to get that all over Kev.”

Half of Dean gets it, knows exactly why Sami’s been keeping his emotions to himself. It sucks to feel like you're dragging your partner down, but Kevin's in one of the worst headspaces Dean's ever seen. Letting it go on any longer would be bad for everyone. 

“Noble of you, Red,” he says, flipping a water bottle back and forth between his hands. “But Kevin's a wreck, and unless you can teleport, you can't do anything about it. So how about it - do I have your permission to top him?”

“Do you want to fuck him, too?”

Sami’s voice is very deliberately calm, which Dean likes. The instigator in him keeps wanting to press Zayn’s buttons, but he won’t. Echoes the calm, straightforward tone.

“It was actually the first impulse I had - just the sex, cause I don’t think I have to tell you how crazy-hot your boy is, especially when he’s shoving people around. Kind of assumed he just needed to get laid, before I saw him space out during the match.”

“Normally I would tell you yes to the sex, no to the kink.”

“But?”

Sami exhales sharply. “If it's bad enough that you're seeing it, then just a fuck won't be what he needs.”

Dean lets the bottle fall to the floor - he'll get it later - and sits cross-legged in a chair. “Now we're talking. What's going to help?”

Sami starts to answer, but goes quiet for a few seconds. He tries again, his voice wavering and starting to take on that rambling tone.

“Okay, don't take this the wrong way, but I never expected you to be this… I mean, altruistic? That's not what I mean, I know you're a nice guy, the fact that you've been friends with Jimmy almost as long as I have says that. It's just sort of surprising that you would not only notice Kevin's mood, but offer to help.”

“Have to be pretty fuckin’ douchey to notice and not want to help.”

It’s flippant and probably dismissive, but Dean doesn’t know Sami well, and being this honest with him is touchy. Most people don’t take well to being told they’re failing at their relationship, and not many would consider the solution he’s presenting. And he’s not claiming to be an expert at reading people, but based on what Seth’s said, Kevin’s not comfortable with the kinky part of himself - which is why Dean’s curious as to why Sami might be okay with sharing.

“Listen . . .” Dean starts, taking a breath. “I’m not claiming to be some saint, God fucking knows I don’t have any ground to stand on for that, but I’ve been in the life long enough to know when a submissive isn’t getting what they need.” That tremor in Kevin’s hands as he set Dean up for the powerbomb. The unconscious flinch when Dean played up his height during the promo. “He’s distracted and slipping out of character. From what I can piece together, that’s not something Kevin ever does, right?”

“No, that’s-” Sami breaks off, curses fairly thoroughly under his breath. “That’s bad. That’s as bad as it’s ever gotten. Shit, I wish I could be there.”

“You can't, and he needs someone. And there have been a lot of fucking times when that's been me… needing it, not having anyone I trusted.”

The silence that descends is awkward, but understandable. It’s 10 pm on a Wednesday, but there’s no great time to have this conversation, and it needs time to settle. Sami sighs a little heavily, but eventually seems to have picked up a stress ball and starts bouncing it off the wall.

“Okay, I think I agree that you should top Kevin, but you should know it’s not going to be a walk in the park.”

Dean snorts. “Didn’t Seth ever tell you? I don’t bore easily, I armchair-shrink my buddies for shits and giggles, and ain’t nobody ever out-stubborned me.”

“That . . . doesn’t actually make me feel better, but I’m going to take you at face value, because what the fuck else can I do?” Thwack, thud, the ball being thrown from Sami’s hand to the wall and bouncing back. Dean gets the restless energy thing - he wonders if Sami might, once he’s healed, be up for some free-running or rock-climbing. “You have my permission for both kink and sex, but he’s a fucking terror to get any information out of. He probably won’t be able to negotiate with you, and I don’t think he’d even consider half of what he needs to be kink.”

“So how do you do it? Just trial and error?”

“No, it’s mostly stuff that I think he’ll like, or that I know he needs. It might be something that I need, because he likes knowing that I’m crazy for something. He likes to brat, be forced to behave, and be useful. Sometimes he’ll acknowledge that what we’re doing is kink, but other times, he refuses to give any name to it.”

Dean lets his head fall back against the chair. “Oh joy. Repressed, ashamed, or just scared of calling a spanking a spanking?”

“All three?”

“Okay. You weren't kidding, huh? About him being a terror.” Sami huffs out a laugh, but Dean can tell it’s forced. Doesn’t quite like that Sami feels the need to perform, and cuts him off with a more strident tone. “Gimme a couple ideas here - safewords, soft limits, and hard limits.”

Sami makes a low, considering hum. “For where he is now? He does _not_ want to be anywhere near his own head, or make any decisions beyond how long it takes to obey an order. Ask him a safeword before you start - if it's ‘steel’, he'll be somewhat mouthy but fairly amenable to most things. That’ll be easy for you. If it's ‘mask’, he'll be ready to fight you on everything, but he wants and needs to be put down hard. That’s going to involve him being intermittently nonverbal and generally combative and not wanting to call any of the shots. Don’t check in too often once you start - he doesn’t really do the traffic light system. You’ll need to use your own judgment if you think it’s too much for him.”

“Innnnnteresting.”

“Interesting how?”

“He knows what a safeword is, enough to have multiple depending on headspace, but won’t actually negotiate?”

“Yeah. I never claimed he was completely ignorant of kink, just that he hates putting a name to most of it.”

Dean’s starting to understand, a little. He remembers CZ-dub, remembers figuring out how he was wired, what he only liked when he was high and what he liked all the time, how he learned what to call it. If you don’t need to look outside your relationship - if you’ve been with your partner for fifteen years and it’s worked - you don’t need to learn definitions and words and how to interact in the lifestyle.

“Limits?”

“No soft limits, not really,” Sami says, passing the ball back and forth between his hands, softer and quicker sounds. “If he doesn’t like something, that’s probably good for him. He likes proving he can take whatever you dish out. You can usually push him through, and he’ll safeword if he really hates it. If he does like something, he’ll tell you. Hard limits . . . bathroom stuff, drawing more blood than a simple bladejob, anything resembling ageplay, namecalling-”

“Like calling him ‘boy’?”

“Yeah, that’d go poorly. You could probably push him a bit with ‘slut’ or ‘bitch’, but nothing else. Oh, and humiliation. Absolute no-go.”

“You know, I’m actually a little pissed I’ve never considered this before,” Dean says, kicking his legs over the arm of the chair. “I can work with all that, I really can. Honestly, I’m gonna get a bigger zing out of playing with his idea of limits than anything, and you’re one of the more permissive tops I’ve talked to.”

Sami barks out a laugh. It’s honest this time, and Dean likes it. “That’s not something anyone’s ever told me.”

“Nah, Zayn, you’re okay. Sure you don’t wanna give me any more limits?”

“Oh, I want to.”

There’s that tone again, and well, Dean has never exactly been known for his subtlety.

“So tell me. Cause I’m going to get my grubby fingers all _over_ your boy. I want to make sure I send him back shinier and happier than I found him, and you seem like you’d give good phone.”

“Would you listen if I tried?” Sami says sarcastically, and immediately backtracks. “I mean, I’m not saying I could, and I don’t want to make assumptions about you just because Seth talks a lot in bed and Jimmy has never kept his mouth shut in his life-”

He has to laugh. “I don’t doubt it. Let’s table it for when you don’t have a bum shoulder. And this is your last chance for limits, if I’m going to catch Kevin before he squirrels away for the night.”

“I just, I need to . . .”

Waiting Sami out is as surprisingly easy as it is odd. He seems to talk so much that the silence seems even more significant, and Dean can be patient if he has to be. Can be still and calm while he hears Sami throw the ball hard at the opposing wall, and doesn’t catch it, listening to it thud against something else.

“I love him so fucking much,” Sami finally says. “You know that, right? Not just in an I-love-you-man way, but in the sense that I - I don’t know who I am without him. I don’t . . . work when we’re apart. I’m saying this because for him, it’s even more the case. He gets lost in his own shit sometimes, and it’s not just when I’m stuck here in Florida-”

“But it sure as fuck doesn’t help. I get it. We both got people who make us better just by being themselves. I swear to you, I’m not going to hurt Kevin. I’m not going to take advantage of him. I just want to help.”

A long, long sigh and pause.

“Fuck, fuck, all right. Don’t tell him anything you plan, if he thinks he knows what’s going on, he’ll never get anywhere near a decent headspace. He hates gags, and trust me, you will want and need to make sure you can hear him. If you - if you have him pinned down, don’t kiss him on the mouth. You can do it other times, but if he’s restrained, please don’t. You can mark him, but nothing permanent. I . . . do not think I would react well if you left anything that won’t fade in a day or two.”

The first and second comments he files away under ‘scene plans’, the third under ‘huh, interesting’, and the last under ‘very fucking hot’. Dean can understand the restrictions on marking, but there will always be a little part of him asking ‘but what if I did?’. At the very least, he’s wondering how he might want to mark Kevin up in the next few hours and if he can sneak a photo of it to get under Sami’s skin.

“Understood.”

“Last bit of instructions, then,” Sami says, and Dean shifts to sit upright. “He’s not going to want aftercare. He’s going to be violent and safeword out of it and tell you he just needs to be left alone. He might even make you believe it, tell you he’s going to call me.”

“He’s going to be lying.”

It’s not a question, because this is a thing Dean knows down to his bones. He’s been there, one too many times, and his heart sort of wrenches for Kevin that he hasn’t been able to get his head around it yet.

“Yeah. You can’t leave him. You don’t need to touch him if he’s lashing out, but be there. Stay the night if you can, put the phone in his hand and make him call me if you can’t.”

“I was planning on staying,” Dean says, “but noted. I’ll send you a text whatever happens.”

***

After he hangs up with Sami, he makes his last phone call of the night - to his beautiful and brilliant girlfriend that he really doesn’t deserve. Renee is neck-deep in voiceover recording, and smiles when he tells her his plans for the evening.

“Take care of him, babe,” she says, and he can hear the fuzz of her threading her microphone through the buttons of her blazer. “He’s been pretty lonely without Sami, and if you can help, you should. Call me tomorrow, okay? Love you.”

Best girlfriend ever.

There’s a couple things to deal with; texting Roman their usual _‘I’ll be out don’t wait up’_ message, making sure to set his alarm and cancel his wake-up call, and inhaling a protein bar and a bottle of water because no one likes to be hungry when you’re trying to focus on a scene. He also meditates for 20 minutes, which might surprise people, but he’s trying to become a Zen motherfucker, and it’s actually helping with some of the twitchiness.

Then he goes to find Kevin, which is not hard considering Kevin goes two places after a show - a pizza joint and his hotel room. The pizza place up the block is pretty good, and he gets there quickly enough to blow a kiss at Becky, shove Neville over, and sit next to Kevin while stealing a slice of pepperoni. 

“The fuck, Ambrose? Get your own fucking pizza,” Kevin complains, but Dean’s not having it. 

It’s a test. Little, presumptuous things. Stealing his pizza, sitting just a little too close, flicking Kevin’s arm, ruffling his hair. Stuff Sami gets away with all the time but Kevin would never let anyone else do. Each little motion that Kevin allows, Dean silently registers on his “how bad does Kevin need this?” checklist, and they’re really starting to add up.

Kevin doesn’t even notice when everyone leaves and Dean begins to steer him back to the hotel. He’s complaining halfheartedly about having to listen to Road Dogg’s stupid-ass jokes all afternoon, and Dean gets him all the way to the elevator before Kevin blinks at his surroundings.

“Hey, how do you know what floor I’m on?”

Dean laughs, leans against the paneled wood. “Jesus, you really do fucking need it. I got you three blocks and into this elevator and you still would have followed me anywhere.”

“What?” Kevin asks flatly, playing up his in-ring tone and posture. Doesn’t do much when Dean’s got four inches of height on him. “I don’t know what you think-”

Dean pushes off the wall, pushes back against Kevin, gets him crowded up against the door. Won’t trap him, but cages him with his arms and slides a knee against Kevin’s thigh. “Kev, I want you to close your mouth and let me drive.”

Kevin’s laugh is sarcastic and loud and nowhere near genuine, if the instinctive little squirm is anything to go by. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Moxxey, but I don’t let anyone drive or whatever the fuck metaphor you wanna use. Go find a chainsaw to hump.”

Motherfucking - okay. Okay, Kevin wants to bring up old gimmicks, he’ll go there. Licking Kevin’s face is pretty fun all on its own for the whimper it elicits, but it’s even better combined with Kevin trying to struggle away. Dean snaps his teeth at Kevin, makes him startle and jerk, and he laughs.

“Let’s not use metaphors then, Kev. Your ass needs to lie the fuck down, stop mouthing off, and get fucked in the worst way. You can try struggling, it’s cute, it’s really fucking adorable and I’ll like it, but we both know all you wanna do is get. on. your. knees.”

Kevin moans, really fucking sweet, and trembles against Dean, but he doesn’t move, and Dean is impressed. He presses his mouth to Kevin’s ear, kissing it soft, licking the rim knowingly and enjoying the soft sounds Kevin is biting back.

“Seriously, Mox, stop-”

“Listen to me, you don’t want to call me by that name. You think you do, but man, that involves blood and glass and wire and bad shit that has no fucking place in my bedroom. You don’t need Mox, and neither do I.”

Pushes him out, that old persona that means 3 am under a highway shakes and waking up in some rando’s living room. He isn’t Mox anymore, it’s just a name, an artifact from the bad old days, and he puts his hands on Kevin’s chest. Doesn’t push, just keeps them there solid and hopefully reassuring.

“It’s so much easier than you think, I promise. Tell me a word that means stop, and until you say it, I’ll do whatever I want to you. Give you all those orders you think you don’t wanna take.”

"My word is fuck you, asshole."

Dean sighs. "Try again."

Kevin shakes his head, the muscles in his shoulders and chest tensing. "Just leave. I don't need this."

"Yeah, you do. You did last night, down on your knees in the middle of the ring, looking up at me sweet as hell."

He thinks Kevin’s going to crack quick, but he doesn’t. The elevator bell dings, and the doors open, and Kevin still won’t move. Won’t let Dean move, either. Dean has to reach over and press the “hold” button for twenty, thirty, seconds. Kevin’s breath echoes in the elevator, puffs out soft against Dean’s neck. 

“I don't cheat.”

Dean nods. “Not asking you to. Seth gave me Sami’s number. Had a nice long conversation about you. You can check my phone log if you need to, call him yourself.”

Kevin digs his own phone out of his back pocket, types in a short message, and it's barely even two minutes later that he gets a reply. Sami’s confirmation is like a release valve - a lot of the tension and fear in Kevin just bleeds out. Finally, Kevin sighs and turns his head and grits out a single word.

“Mask.”

Fuck fuck _fuck_. Sami had warned him, and Dean halfway figured it’d be this, but now he knows. Intermittently nonverbal, combative, and in need of a thorough taking-apart, okay.

“Understood. Walk out of this elevator now, or I’ll push you out.”

“Asshole, you’re going to have to-”

Sami hadn’t said anything about not using physical punishment, so Dean throws a solid open-palmed slap. Just wants to get Kevin’s attention, and holy fuck, the sound that comes out of Kevin’s mouth. He shudders all over and moans and his eyes flutter closed like it’s the best feeling ever.

Huh. Sami had not mentioned painkink at all, and with a reaction like this, it’s clear as fucking daylight that Kevin loves it.

“If you fucking mouth off at me, you get nothing. I leave you here with this-” and he grabs Kevin’s dick, grip firm enough to keep his attention, not hard enough to be good, “and that’s fucking boring. Don’t bore me, Kev, you _know_ I know from pain. I could hurt you really fucking sweet . . . if you’re good and do what you’re told.”

Kevin’s eyes open, dark and hazing over in pleasure, and he stares suspiciously at Dean for a few moments before edging toward the hallway. Dean nods and follows him down to room 1105, and Kevin hands Dean his key card with shaking hands.

“You want me to open it?” Dean asks. Straightforward. Checking.

“Fucking obviously-”

“The fuck did I tell you about that mouth?”

Kevin bares his teeth, but grits out a “sorry. Can you open it?”

Dean smirks, but slides the card into the slot and gets the door open. He finds himself immediately shoved into the nearest inside wall, Kevin’s mouth at his collarbone, hips slotted against his own, and it’s nice, but Kevin’s being really fucking pushy when he shouldn’t be. Dean shoves him back hard, gets him against the door, and curls a hand in the soft spikes of Kevin’s hair.

“Did I fucking tell you you could put your mouth or anything else on me?” 

Kevin shakes his head, inhaling sharp, and Dean hums warningly under his breath before he slips away from Kevin. Walks into the hotel room - boring white walls, tasteful-he-supposes beige and grey bedspread, a couple pillows - and swipes one of the pillows to drop on the floor. He points to it. 

“Park your knees or your ass on that and fucking listen, if you want to even consider getting off tonight.”

It looks like it’s going to be a staring contest, wonderful. Kevin’s standing against the door, hard through his shorts, glaring like he isn’t sure he wants to piledrive Dean or kneel for him, that signature smirk sneaking onto his face. He wants a reaction, wants Dean to yell and shove and pay attention to him, and Dean won’t give it to him. Stays where he is, looking meaningfully at the pillow lying on the floor.

Kevin’s gaze shifts, suspicious and cagey and uncertain, and he takes a step. Stops. Continues to try to clock Dean’s reaction, so Dean doesn’t give him a single thing. Wants to convey how little he cares if Kevin takes all night to obey a simple order.

It’s achingly slow and tests Dean’s patience, but Kevin slowly crosses the room and kneels. Dean’s a little surprised, he’d assumed they were going to have to start from “I’m just sitting on the floor” instead of “I’m kneeling for you like you asked”.

“That was good, Kevin.” The praise hits, visibly, Kevin’s false sneer wavering into a pleased smile that makes him look almost a decade younger. “See how good it feels when you do what I tell you?”

“Yeah.” Kevin’s voice is soft - another top might consider it edging toward subspace, but Dean won’t delude himself. He’s probably not going to get Kevin anywhere near that relaxed. 

“Let’s continue that.”

“Are you going to fuck me?”

Dean shakes his head. “I’m not going to fuck you until you answer five questions for me. None of that yes or no shit, either. Full sentences, as much honesty as you can stand. Got it?”

“Yes. I got it.” 

Sullen, but clear, so Dean kicks off his shoes and socks and shrugs out of his jacket. Drapes it over the chair, with easy access from the bed for when he wants the lube and condoms he stashed in his pocket before coming over. He scratches the back of his head and tucks one leg up while he studies Kevin. This is going to take some careful phrasing.

“Question numero uno - tell me how you feel about being fucked. Do you usually bottom, or are you more of a switch?”

“Of course I like being fucked, what the shit kind of question is that?” Kevin’s answer is light, mocking, but Dean hears the rush in his voice. Doesn’t like being made to talk, and Dean just raises an eyebrow at him. “I mean, it’s not like I need it or anything. I can top, it’s not a problem. I just like it more when I have to take it. So, you know, you wouldn’t have to like - hold me down or anything.”

Reverse psychology? Really? Dean almost laughs at him, but he keeps it to a soft little chuckle.

“Oh sure, that’d be completely _awful_ for you, being made to take it. If I cuffed you to that headboard with the nice, sturdy cuffs I totally don’t have in my left jacket pocket, and didn’t let you up until you begged me to do it and begged me again to stop.”

Kevin’s eyes look glazed over, his breathing quick and shuddering. He likes the idea too much to even try to hide, and Dean hides a smirk against his hand, turning the motion into a cough. 

“Okay, next question - tell me one thing you want right now, more than anything. If I only did one single thing to you and then left, what would you want?”

“Why would you stop?”

“It’s a hypothetical fucking situation, and it’s supposed to make you get specific, jerk. You gonna share, or are we gonna have another staring contest?”

Ugh, staring contest it is.

It’s only two minutes, by the clock on the bedside table, but it feels like ages. Kevin kneels, glaring and resentful, and Dean stays unmoving in the chair. 

“... kiss me and shove my face against the floor.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Kevin narrows his eyes. “What I want. If you only did one thing. That fucking Summerslam match with Seth. You told him you loved him, you kissed him and then you shoved his face into the mat after you stomped him. I can’t fucking get that out of my head.”

Oh man, that’s a headtrip and a half to hear. Everybody who’s ever laced the boots likes their work to be appreciated, and there’s really very few people who even come close to Kevin’s nose for the business. The fact that he mixes his personal kink with the ring isn’t a surprise - Dean saw Final Battle just like every other mark with an internet connection, and some of the shit Kevin and Sami used to pull? Kevin’s taste for pain and tenderness combined is looking much more familiar.

Dean stands up, gets right up in Kevin’s space and tilting his face up. “Hurt you cause I can’t deal with how much I need you, huh? Remind you of anybody?”

Kevin tries to pull away, but Dean won’t let him. He leans down and kisses Kevin softly on the mouth - greedily regretful, lust and loss both - and then shoves Kevin’s head down to the floor, grinding his face into cream deep-pile carpeting. The sob Kevin makes is wild, torn open, and Dean very carefully strokes down the back of Kevin’s neck. 

“Good. That was real good, how you took that for me.” 

Kevin's sobs quiet, but he still draws in a shaky breath and asks in a very small voice “are you going to leave now?”

“No. I'm not going anywhere, Kev, you're stuck with me. You ready to stop?”

“ _No_ ,” Kevin growls. 

“Okay. Third question.” He removes his hand from Kevin’s neck and backs up. Kevin whimpers, but Dean had already warned him he wouldn’t touch him too much. Besides, Kevin sounds really nice like this. He sits back in the chair and Kevin edges back onto the pillow. Very good boy. “If I decide you deserve it, what should I use to hit you? You can choose one - my hand or my belt.”

“Hand.”

It’s quick and certain - much more so than Dean expects. He tilts his head, but realizes Kevin isn’t looking at him, breathing quick and looking at the near wall instead, and he clears his throat. When Kevin’s gaze snaps over to him, he spreads his hands.

“Sentences, I think I said.” Kevin looks away again, and Dean clicks his tongue, shakes his head at Kevin. “Uh-uh, keep your eyes here. Tell me why you want my hand instead of the belt.”

“Fuck you,” Kevin snaps. “I answered your question.”

Combative, right. He sighs, throwing his head back and stretching. “And I told you I wanted detail.” Waits Kevin out a little more, watching Kevin’s jaw tighten and his fists curl at his sides. “Cool, we can just sit on our asses while you fucking make up your mind. It’s fine, not like there’s anything better we could be doing.”

There’s a low growl coming out of Kevin’s throat, and Dean likes the sound of it. Smirks at him, lets Kevin watch the stretch of his tee shirt across his arms as he stretches again. Kevin’s mouth twists as he takes a breath, then another.

“You fucking psycho,” he snarls. “The fuck are you getting out of this? Studying me like you oughta be studied?”

“Are you done?”

“No, I am not fucking done. I’m never fucking done. What, you get off on putting other people through the bullshit you went through? Is that how you got so good at this - somebody saw through your lunatic act to the scared little boy underneath? Hah, bet it was Regal. You spent a year basically waving a red flag at him going please punish me, Daddy-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean snaps, because there’s a lot of things he can sit through, but Kevin bratting off and getting a little too close to his actual issues for comfort isn’t one of them.

Kevin laughs, low and indy-circuit fake. “Talk, shut the fuck up? Man, you do like giving orders, don’t you? What, you think if you put enough conviction into it, your partner won’t know just how fucked up you are-”

“Just because you think you know fuck-all about my life, that does not give you the right or the privilege to try and use it right now. This is not about that, and if you’re too fucking stupid to understand what a scene is, I am getting the fuck out of here right now, and calling your idiot boyfriend to scream at _him_ too.”

“No, _don’t-_ ”

Kevin yelps, his breath fast, ‘I-fucked-up’ scared and thready, and Dean has to calm himself. Tap his fingers against his collarbone in his usual comfort gesture and get his own breathing back to normal. Remind himself that he shouldn’t judge other people’s relationships, there's a reason he usually stays away from indirect consent, and that blaming a sub for their dom’s failings probably isn’t the best.

He gets to his feet and crosses to Kevin. Telegraphs his movements, touching his shoulder gently. Lets his hand rest there, letting Kevin get used to the sensation, keeping eye-contact. Slowly curves his palm against Kevin’s cheek and makes sure to keep his eyes visible, not hidden behind his hair. 

“I’m sorry I yelled, but I don’t like talking about my past. Using it for the gimmick is one thing, but hearing you throw it at me now fucking hurts. Please don’t do that.”

Kevin’s lower lip wavers, but he nods, short and sharp. He seems to be back behind his eyes, if still on his guard, and his posture has slumped a little. Not that squared-off bluff he was doing earlier, and Dean crouches down to Kevin’s level. Doesn’t touch him any more than he had, but evens the playing field a little.

“Word?”

Kevin licks his lips, looks out the window and then up at the ceiling. His fingers curl into fists, then back out, the ink of his tattoos almost alive in the dim of the room. 

“No. I’m good. If you’re good.”

“Gimme a sec. Just wanna sit here and get my head straight.”

Okay, back on board, but Dean is starting to get that Kevin really just cannot know what is going to happen next. There was something else behind that outburst, but Dean doesn’t know Kevin well enough to figure it out. Christ, what he wouldn’t give for Kevin to be slightly more forthcoming about this. For Sami - or hell, Seth - to be here, someone who knows Kevin a little better.

***

“Two more questions, yeah?”

Kevin’s question snaps Dean out of his own head, which is really fucking stupid of him. He needs to focus, distraction will fuck them both up if he’s not careful, and he nods, looking over at Kevin.

“You’re right. Answer this one for me, full sentences - what is the best thing someone’s done to you in bed?”

He watches Kevin bite his lip, sneak careful looks at Dean’s shoulders, his mouth. Rests his arms on his knees, like he could crouch there all night, and Kevin shifts on his knees, the flush creeping up the back of his neck when he bows it for a moment. 

“Sure you wanna hear about someone else?”

“Fucking asked, didn’t I?” Dean reaches out, gently tips Kevin’s chin up. “Eyes on me. Open your mouth and talk, I want to hear everything. Go on, tell me how Zayn blows your tiny little mind.”

God, just hearing Sami’s name makes Kevin shiver, and that’s interesting, Dean can work with that. Maybe he’ll see if he can dirtytalk Kev into coming just from his voice, tell him all about that recurring fantasy he’s had of gagging Sami and spanking him until he cries.

Kevin’s eyelashes flutter, his toes curling up off the floor, and he finally opens his eyes. “I don’t - fuck, I don’t know what he did. How he did it. There’s some special name for it, right, when somebody tells you that you can’t get off unless they say so?”

“Yeah. Orgasm denial. Forced chastity, depending on how much of a big deal it was. I’m guessing by the way your dick’s perked up that you liked it?”

Flat, annoyed look. “I _like_ chocolate ice cream and watching _The Office_. This was - fuck, it was the hottest thing in my life. He was such a little shit about it, pretending it didn’t really matter to him, all ‘oh Kevin, no, we’re stopping now, I asked you not to come, if you can’t do it then we’ll just forget about it’. I went four days without realizing that I wasn’t jerking off because Sami told me not to.”

Dean whistles low in his throat, and while he really, really wants to get his hands all over Kevin and order him not to come, he has one more hidden-negotiation question to ask. He can’t help but run his hand down Kevin’s chest, though, watch Kevin shiver and moan through his teeth.

“He must have been over the damn moon. I’d have been doing motherfucking backflips, Kev, do you have any idea how sweet that is from our end? How good you were?”

“N-no?”

He pushes lightly on Kevin’s chest, and Kevin sits back on his ass, which lets Dean pop the button on his jeans and climb into Kevin’s lap. Kevin, of course, looks stunned, but Dean kneels across Kevin’s thighs with just enough room between them to brush teasingly against Kevin’s dick and for no satisfying contact.

“You said you didn’t know why Sami asked you not to jerk off. You fucking obeyed the order anyway. Goddamn gorgeous of you, I bet you went crazy when he finally gave you permission.” Kevin’s response is shaking and inarticulate, and Dean grabs him by the collar of his tee-shirt. Pulls the shirt over Kevin's head. “He make you beg for it?”

“Yes. Fuck, always, every fucking time, doesn’t need to _make_ me.”

Dean really likes the way Kevin’s eyes are fluttering, the way he whines and tries to squirm against Dean. How desperate he is for contact.

“Last question, look at me, no, babe, open your eyes and look at me. Good. I only need to know one more thing, and then I'm going to start taking you apart. Have you ever been cuffed or restrained before?”

“By Sami or someone else?”

“Someone else.”

“Only… only a few times.”

Dean brushes the backs of his knuckles up Kevin's cheek. “Tell me about the first time, what got you about it.”

“Ty… I mean, Seth - it was Seth. It was a bad fucking night, I think I was still bleeding from a chair shot.”

 _Oh, really?_ This is not a story Seth has mentioned, and Dean would have liked to hear it. 

“Bet you were dizzy as hell,” Dean says.

Kevin nods, his hands tightening on Dean's hips. “I don't remember going to the motel or anything. I remember Sami - saying things, teasing me. Seth too. I remember getting mad and punching Seth and then Sami holding me down. We used the bedsheets, for the blood and then to tie me.”

Ah, indy budgets and dumb shit you do after a show instead of seeking medical treatment. He totally misses it, at times like this, and they share a knowing smile.

“Seth made you suck him off, right?” Kevin nods, startled, and Dean’s smile widens. “He likes that, likes knowing you couldn’t get away. And what was Sami doing during this?”

“Sitting across the room jerking off. He likes watching people with me. Fucking me. Sometimes he just plays music and watches and sometimes he tells them what to do and sometimes he joins in. He - ah, fuck - it’s stupid.”

“It’s not. Talk.”

Kevin ducks his head, rubbing his nose along Dean’s collarbone. It’s almost a self-comforting gesture, startlingly sweet. “That time, he was still in his ring gear. So were we. I had blood all over my singlet and Sami didn’t want to untie me, so he cut it open with a pocketknife. He made me watch him and Seth, god, I couldn’t breathe, they were so hot and so - I wanted to lick up the blood from Seth’s neck and let Sami trace that knife over me. Wanted… wanted them both to fuck me, so hard I couldn’t think of anything else.”

It’s really a goddamn shame, isn’t it, that he and Kevin never ran into each other in CZW? Dean would have given him blood and pain, much less carefully than he will now, they could have had a fucking beautiful time with each other.

Fuck. No permanent marks. He’d promised. 

“Man, you’re gonna have to tell me more about them sometime. Seth doesn’t give me a goddamn crumb of info about you and Sami.” Another of those sweet, needy sounds, everything in Kevin pulling toward him like the tide, and Dean wants to push back. “Bet your boy is pretty as fuck. Bet I could fucking ruin him. Like I’m going to ruin you, Kev.”

Sucker-punch to the jaw, enough to snap Kevin’s head back, and Kevin keens through his teeth for it. Breathing _yes yes yes_ , and Dean hauls Kevin to his feet, gets him up and onto the bed and slams his hands against the headboard.

“Do not fucking move. If you move your hands, I swear to god, I’m gonna make you regret it in the worst way.”

Kevin’s frozen, barely even breathing and shaking all over, and Dean pulls the padded cuffs out of his jacket pocket. Motions to Kevin to give him his left wrist, and snaps the cuff on. Kevin goes utterly dreamy behind the eyes, and Dean doesn’t even have to ask for Kevin to offer his right wrist. Completely trusting and calm, and Dean presses a kiss to the inside of Kevin’s wrist before he cuffs him to the headboard.

Dean really abruptly needs to get more of his mouth on Kevin, and he licks at a little of the sweat at Kevin’s temple. Slides his mouth down to Kevin’s jaw, nips at the skin at the edge of his beard, comes within a single breath of kissing him on the mouth before he remembers Sami’s instructions.

Shit. Shit, he can see why Sami made that rule.

Kevin restrained is deeply beautiful and yearning and so pliant it hurts to see. He makes the smallest, softest noises, his eyelids fluttering and his mouth parted. Kissing Kevin on the mouth when he’s like this would be incredibly intimate, and Dean can see why it’s a privilege reserved only for Sami. 

Kissing Kevin's neck is nowhere near a substitute. 

***

“So, I don't have a pocket knife on me,” Dean says, dragging his nails along the skin of Kevin's belly, watching him shiver. “But I want those shorts off. Bridge that ass up.”

Kevin makes a short, distressed noise, but arches his back and lets Dean get his shorts and briefs down. He settles back down on the bed, and immediately yelps for Dean slapping him on the thigh. 

“Why’d you do that?” Kevin whimpers, tugging at the cuffs, and that’s no good.

“Cause I felt like it,” Dean says, giving him a hard cuff to the head, and Kevin moans sweet for it. “I don't gotta explain shit to you, babe. Shut up and take what you're given. A couple ‘thank you’s’ wouldn't suck, either.”

Kevin's laugh is shaky, but pointed. “Not happening. I can take it, but I'm-ah- not thanking you.”

“It’s adorable that you think that.” Dean places his hand on Kevin’s shoulder, just atop a nasty-looking bruise, and presses carefully. Kevin cries out, gritting his teeth and shivering, and Dean keeps at it, working the bruise until Kevin’s gasping and snapping his hips and panting _thank you thank you thank you_. “Better. Still think you could be nicer, but don’t worry, we’ll get there.”

Quick, openhanded slap to Kevin’s face, his mouth red with the blow, and Dean wishes for some nice rope or a partner to act as restraints so he could move Kevin. He wants to make Kevin suck him off, put him on his knees or his back, but at least Kevin’s cuffed and not moving, which isn’t bad. Keeping him on his toes is the point, and Dean twists at a nipple before pressing his mouth to the bruise on Kevin’s shoulder. Kisses and licks at it, Kevin making sharp little moans and cries, and sucks hard enough to break skin. 

Mmmm, sharp tang of blood - it’s been fucking ages since he’s tasted anyone’s blood but his own - and Kevin arches up hard. His dick is pressing up against his stomach, thick and leaking, and Dean wraps his fingers around Kevin. Strokes him hard and quick as he kisses and bites at Kevin’s neck and shoulder.

“Yeah, you like that, babe? Just take it, stop fucking running your brain, relax and enjoy it.”

Kevin’s past words now, whimpering and moaning for more, thrusting into Dean’s fist. Tugging at the cuffs slow and sweet, then fast and off-rhythm like his body can’t keep up with itself, and Dean gives him a tighter grip. Bites at his shoulder and chest, still jerking him off. Keeps at him until Kevin comes all over Dean’s fingers, and holds them up in front of Kevin.

“Lick it off.”

“No,” Kevin pants, shaking his head.

Dean slaps him with the same hand, trailing wet across Kevin’s cheek and mouth. “Ain’t gonna ask again.”

He half expects Kevin to try and bite him, but he doesn’t. Kevin struggles through the decision, but he eventually opens his mouth, his eyes staring up at Dean dark and resentful. Takes Dean’s fingers, working his tongue and his mouth to lick his own come off, soft wet sounds in the dim hotel room. He's always been good with his mouth, and Dean pushes his fingers in a little, makes Kevin open wider and take them.

“Finally getting the idea?” Dean asks, smearing his fingers across Kevin’s mouth, Kevin chasing them, sucking them in. “Good. I wanna hear some of that begging you mentioned. You wanna be fucked?”

“No.” Flat and fast, and Dean doesn’t believe a bit of it. “No, fuck you. Let me up.”

“That’s not gonna happen. Turn over.”

“For what?”

Kevin’s words are slurred, but he seems to be lucid enough, and Dean reaches out, watches Kevin flinch for a moment and then turn into the touch of Dean’s hand to his cheek. This is the part Dean needs to be careful about - Kevin’s been coaxed through a handjob and is generally more relaxed, but now Dean wants to ramp up a little more and spank him.

“Does it matter?” Dean asks, honestly curious. “Don’t you get exhausted with fighting? Being such a brat?” The word choice is deliberate, and he watches it land, Kevin’s mouth twisting as he tugs at the restraints. “Go on,” Dean coaxes, “fight it out, if you need to, but you know it’s gonna be so much better when you give in.”

Kevin gives it a good shot; pulls at the restraints, reddening his wrists, growling low in his throat and kicking his legs against the sheets. Dean stands up, thinks about what he could do if Kevin really decides to fight it out, but it doesn’t take long for Kevin to squirm onto his stomach and curl his hands into fists in the cuffs, his muscles tensing. 

Dean gets his jeans and shirt off, sheds his boxers too, and climbs up onto the bed to straddle the back of Kevin’s thighs. Places his hands carefully on Kevin’s back - Kevin still flinches, snarls - and presses down. Finds the tensed muscles in his shoulders and the soft skin above his ribs, and puts his hands on it. Gets Kevin used to being touched, until his breathing smooths out some.

“Can you reach the wall?” Dean asks, and Kevin nods, taps it. “Good. If you seriously need to stop, 100% sure that you can’t take any more, tap out loud on the wall.”

He flicks on his iPhone, pulls up some GNR, and throws on “Patience”. He does better work when he has a beat to work with, and he’s found that usually, the music will help his subs relax. Kevin’s breathing easier almost as soon as the opening chords are finished, and Dean continues moving his hands down Kevin’s body. This gives him a chance to map the areas that can handle some slapping and impact, and where he’ll need to avoid.

Starts soft, a few slaps to Kevin’s thighs, until Kevin’s moaning soft and moving with him. Goes a little harder as he moves up, gets the curve of Kevin’s ass. Grabs it a little, wants to see how he responds to the sensation, and Kevin jerks for it, cries out louder. 

“C’mon, babe, take it, you told me you’d take it,” Dean murmurs, softening his slaps again, aiming for the flat of Kevin’s ass, already turning red. Ramping up the intensity and changing his rhythm. “I’m being sweet to you now, but that can change if you wanna brat some more. Is that what you want, or are you gonna be good?”

Kevin’s answer is a muffled howl into the pillows. Dean checks his posture - not tense or hurting, splayed out and grinding into the bed. Just needs to scream it out, apparently, and Dean strokes his hand over Kevin's hair.

“Think I've got it now, babe,” he says, leaning down to kiss at Kevin's lower back. “It's that match again. Pain and praise. Hurt you and tell you how good you are for taking it.”

Kevin whimpers, shifts against the bed, and Dean fits a hand to the back of Kevin's neck. Holds him down, listening to how Kevin's cries grow in volume. Lets Kevin thrash and squirm, fight it out, and then feels him melt. 

“That's it. You can take this. You're so fucking sweet when you give in.”

He almost wants to go for his belt - Kevin’s the kind of submissive that would want more immediate pain, relish the bite of a leather belt - but something he’s also figured out is that he can’t let Kevin go physically. Dean’s played with other subs, more trusting and secure, able to be left to enjoy their predicament or punishment, but Kevin wouldn’t do well with that.

A harder, heavy slap to Kevin’s thighs, push to his head, another blow to his ass, punch to his shoulderblade, and Dean’s building a rhythm. Not enough of one for Kevin to guess it, but a circuit of spots that he’s noticed Kevin likes best. He leans down and starts biting down Kevin’s spine, giving him more pressure the lower he goes. Sucking harder, leaving successively darker marks.

“Wh-what are you - mmm - doing?”

“I’m leaving Sami a present,” he growls, listening to the gasp Kevin gives. “Yeah, I am. He told me no permanent marks, but he didn’t say shit about any other ones.” Presses his teeth, just hard enough to make Kevin squirm, to the base of his spine. “Was pretty fucking insistent about it. He must love marking you up, babe. Yeah?”

Kevin sobs out a yes, then something in French. He’d slipped into French before, when he’d been pretty close to coming, but from what Dean can tell, Kevin’s not hard enough for that yet. Dean bites, listens to Kevin’s voice skid from high and sharp to lower and softer - ah, that’s how long it takes to process his pain-pleasure sensations. Waits for Kevin to shift into the pain, then gives him another bite to the crease of his thigh, close to his balls.

Oh, that’s a pretty sound. Really fucking gorgeous, and Dean pushes down on Kevin’s neck, forces him still while the pain courses through him and shifts into pleasure. 

“So fucking good, babe. Can see why Zayn mostly keeps this all to himself. He knows you’d have every top on the roster fighting to put you down, once they saw how sweet you are. Ah, Kev, no. No, you already came once. Don’t fucking rub off, I’ll have to get strict with you.”

He half expects the deliberate grind of Kevin’s hips, and he retaliates by slapping Kevin’s ass as hard as he can and yanking back on his hair. Pinning him in place, rutting into the space between Kevin’s thighs, growling “what did I fucking tell you, brat? You wanna get demanding with me?”

Kevin shakes his head.

“You acting out ‘cause you want to be fucked?”

Immediate nod. Not even trying to hide it. 

“Babe,” Dean says, pressing a slow, soft kiss to Kevin’s neck, “all you had to fucking do was ask. I told you I wanted to fuck you, but you said you didn’t want it-”

“I want it, I - _je ne peux pas le dire, sir, j’ai juste besoin de toi_ -”

He understands the first part and the tone, at least, of the second. Kevin is apologizing, begging softly with the only words he can command, and so Dean moves to the head of the bed. Gets the key from the bedside table and unlocks Kevin’s cuffs, causing immediate panic to thread into Kevin’s voice.

“ _Non, non, je suis désolé_ , I . . . I’ll make it up-”

“No. Quiet. Relax.”

As soft and firm as he can make it, closing his hands around Kevin’s wrists. He doesn’t know if they’ve cramped up, if Kevin’s got pins and needles like Dean always gets when he’s been cuffed for longer than 10 minutes, but it won’t hurt to work his thumbs against each wrist, press slow circles to Kevin’s palms while he talks.

“Take it fucking easy, okay? These shouldn’t be on for too long, so I took them off. Okay? Come here.”

Kevin’s eyes are still wide, slowly shaking his head, and Dean coaxes him into an embrace. Gets Kevin sitting between his legs, arms around his chest, resting his chin on Kevin’s head. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong. You'll get what you need, relax.” 

***

Kevin relaxes by inches, as he slowly accepts the embrace and lets Dean’s hands run over his skin. He’s not touching Kevin roughly, but he’s learning that heavy-and-deliberate is better for Kevin; lighter or meandering makes Kevin startle and tense, and that’s great for other scenes, but not this one. He also startles when Dean’s fingers draw over his wrists, where the skin is bruising up a little. 

“Hurts?” Dean asks.

Kevin shakes his head, and from his voice, Dean can tell Kevin’s struggling to form the words. “Weird. Tingly. I, it’s not bad, I can feel all my fingers and stuff, but it - I don’t know.”

Dean thinks Kevin might be a sub that gets fairly headfucked by bondage, and if he’s right, that’s why Kevin reacts better to heavy-and-deliberate. He knows where to expect the touch, can focus his scattered thoughts on the sensation. Associate it with pleasure instead of uncertainty.

“Okay. Stay still for a sec. Nobody’s cuffed you for a while, right?” The noise Kevin makes is half affirmative and half plaintive, and Dean laughs softly. “Jesus, you know you can ask for this shit? And anything else you need?”

“I guess,” he says, licking his lips and stretching his wrists out. Dean wants to test the waters, see if Kevin’s reached his limits yet, and so he sinks fingers into Kevin’s hair, pulling slow and deliberate. Kevin makes a startled groan. “Oh, _crisse_ , yeah- you can - you can do that a lot more.”

Dean pushes him forward, keeping his hand in Kevin’s hair. “Good boy.” Kevin’s shivering as he complies, gets onto his knees and elbows, and Dean lets himself rub his aching dick against Kevin’s ass. “Keep it up, Kev, I like it when you’re good for me. You can brat all you need, but you and I both know you fucking love being put down.”

Kevin moans incoherently into the sheets, and Dean strokes down his back as he reaches over to grab the lube and condom on the table. Gets the condom on and starts working his fingers into Kevin, who gets even louder when Dean goes a little too hard and deep on one thrust. Dean does it again - wants to figure out if it’s the pain in general or being fingered - and there’s that loud, rough cry.

“Moremoremore fuck *fuck* I need it make it hurt-”

“Hurts sweet, huh? All right, babe, you’ll get it.” 

Dean gives him a harder motion, three-fingers deep, and he bites his way down Kevin’s jaw, kisses him slick and messy as he opens him up. Jesus, he’s going to strangle Zayn for the kissing rules - Kevin loves to kiss, Dean can feel it. How he practically purrs for every lick of Dean’s tongue, makes soft little moans for Dean’s teeth biting at his lip.

“Do it, do it, _tabarnak, tu dois_ \- oh just do it-” Kevin rambles, pushes back against Dean and if that isn’t an invitation he wants to accept, Dean doesn’t even know what.

Pushing into Kevin, slapping him on the top of his thigh, and just letting loose feels beyond amazing. He lets himself sink completely into topspace, fucking Kevin as hard and fast as he wants, pushing and manipulating Kevin’s body where he wants it. Gets Kevin flat against the bed for a while, one knee pushed up toward his chest, Kevin’s back muscles flexing as he holds onto the headboard. Then pulls Kevin’s hips up, changes the angle enough to growl in satisfaction and bite along Kevin’s shoulders. Dimly, he registers Kevin crying out and burying his face in the sheets, and everything is heat and slickness and razor-sharp pleasure.

“There you fuckin’ are,” Dean rasps, chasing beads of sweat down Kevin’s spine with his tongue and reaching down to pull Kevin’s hips up even higher. “Take it, that’s right, you take it real goddamn sweet, still so tight around my dick. And you just - fuck, you look fucking high right now. Like you’re on the best fucking drugs in the world, and I love it, I love putting that look on your face.”

Kevin makes the most beautiful sob, breaking open completely. He’s whispering now, broken French and English, and Dean digs his hands into Kevin’s hips. Wants a set of fingerprints to last at least long enough to get a photo of and send it to Sami. And Kevin bruises up so quick, it doesn’t take much for the marks to turn red, then dull. Dean bites another ring of marks into Kevin’s back, just under his left shoulderblade, and that’s all it takes for Kevin to come again, tripwire-quick, setting Dean off as well.

Dean lets himself fall off to the side, manages to retain enough motor control to get the condom off and into a trashcan, and he lies against the mattress with his own breathing and Kevin’s shuddering sobs ringing in his ears. He remembers Sami’s warning about aftercare, doesn’t move to touch Kevin, but as soon as he gets his breath back, he does turn his head toward Kevin.

“Hurt enough?” he asks, keeps his voice low and calm.

Kevin’s face is buried in a pillow, flushed across his neck. “Fuck off. Please.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Fuck the fuck _off_ , Ambrose. You fucking got what you wanted.”

It’s a risk, Dean knows, but if it were him…

He scoots over a little, not enough to really press against Kevin, but enough to feel the line of his body. Presses his hand to the back of Kevin’s neck and strokes calmly down the soft bristling hair. 

“It doesn’t matter what I got. I know you think you don’t want anyone here, but I can’t leave you. Do you understand?”

“No,” Kevin says, sharp and whimpering, but he isn’t trying to fight Dean off.

“We just went through a lot. Physically, I hurt you . . . doesn’t really matter how much you wanted or liked it. I know you did, and you know you did, but our brains ain’t wired to deal with that easy. Think of it like a match, okay? You know when you’re in there that it’s just a work, you know you’re not in danger, but your body feels like it is, and sometimes you gotta sit and rehash it for hours to feel normal again.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Kevin says, plaintively. “I just… I want you to leave.”

Dean tightens his grip. “Told you that ain’t gonna happen. We don’t have to talk.” Lets go of Kevin’s neck. “I’ll leave the bed. I’ll sit out in the living room and like, watch the Simpsons or something, but I’m not leaving you.”

Kevin curls onto his side, shying away, but he still doesn’t strike out and Dean has no illusions that if he wanted to, he could. Sami wouldn’t have warned him about Kevin being violent if it hadn’t happened before. Dean thinks Kevin might have fallen asleep, but then Kevin’s voice comes out soft and still-shaky.

“I feel like my skin’s crawling.”

“Probably the lube and the sweat. You got a workout, Kev.”

“I don’t like it,” he mumbles, and Dean laughs.

“Yeah, it’s pretty fucking gross. If I get up and get you a washcloth, will you promise to try and let me sit with you?”

It's a few minutes, but Kevin nods, and Dean goes for the bathroom. Swipes his boxers from the floor and throws them on, grateful for the layer. He gets a washcloth, making sure the water isn’t too hot or too cold, and returns to find Kevin curled into a ball, hugging a pillow to his chest. Dean crouches next to the bed and holds the cloth out to Kevin, who shakes his head and buries his face in the pillow.

Dean’s honestly expecting a punch in the face when he swipes the cloth over Kevin’s shoulders, but Kevin just shivers and stays where he is. 

“I know this is hard,” he finds himself saying, almost sweetly. Coaxing. “You’re really fucking good, Kevin. You are. You took a lot tonight, some things for the first time. I know you’ve never been spanked while cuffed before, and you took it exactly how I wanted. Did you like it?”

Kevin’s voice comes out muffled, but annoyed. “Got off to it, didn’t I?”

“Not my question. I get off to a lot of things I don’t always like.”

He figures Kevin will ignore him, but Kevin takes a breath, making his shoulders rise under Dean’s hand.

“... yeah. I , uh, I really liked it. Having to be still. Taking pain. E-especially when I couldn’t tell what was coming.”

“Tell Sami some of this, okay? Or let me tell him.” Kevin raises his head, bleary-eyed but wary, and Dean keeps his eyes calm and his hands stroking the washcloth over Kevin’s back. “Even if you think he knows, even if you think you shouldn’t like something, it’s good for him to be reminded of what you want. That nerd loves the shit outta you, you know that right?”

Kevin curls his hands into the sheets, clenching and releasing his fists, and Dean waits until Kevin’s back un-tenses before starting to clean his thighs. Kevin takes a sharp breath, seems to want to say something, but doesn’t get anything out until after Dean’s finished with the washcloth.

“I want two things. I… first, I want that cloth. I’ll do the rest, if I can? And I want my phone, to call Sami.”

“Okay.” He hands the cloth to Kevin and gets to his feet. “Where’d you leave your phone?”

“Left pocket of my shorts, somewhere in the living room.” 

The shorts are easy to find - though Dean has absolutely no idea where his shoes went, he can spot nearly everything else - and he fishes Kevin’s phone from the pocket. Goes back to the bedroom, where Kevin has gotten up and gone into the bathroom to shower. The door’s not closed all the way, and Dean places Kevin’s phone on the far table. He stretches out a little as he ponders what to do; he’d promised Sami he wouldn’t leave, Kevin seems okay but is definitely still on edge, and Dean, meanwhile, is feeling slightly tense. What he wouldn’t give for a massage right now… he’ll have to make do with a little stretching. Cat-cow. Downward dog. Pigeon. Bridge. Warrior.

“Man, I thought Seth was ribbing me,” Kevin says, standing in the doorway in a pair of boxer briefs and a towel around his shoulders. He looks more with-it, at least. “You actually do yoga.”

Dean ignores his tone, bends at the waist into triangle pose. Exhales. “Good for flexibility. And my back.”

He goes through a few more poses, looks up after the last to find Kevin sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at his phone. Dean remembers those days, typing out the number for someone (for Jimmy, for Nick, for Roman, for Seth) and being scared to dial, because then whatever he’d just done was real.

The consequences were real.

“Hit send, man,” he says, shifting back and forth onto the balls of his feet. Meeting Kevin’s startled eyes and waiting it out, showing Kevin he isn’t going to leave. “You need to talk to Sami.”

“Okay,” Kevin breathes, flexing his fingers unconsciously. Dean goes to leave and Kevin’s hand shoots out to grip Dean’s wrist. He doesn’t say anything, won’t even look at Dean, but he clearly wants Dean to stay. “Okay.”

Dean climbs back onto the bed, tossing Kevin’s used towel off the opposite side and settles down while Kevin quickly presses “send” and the speakerphone lets him hear the ringing. Sami picks up on the second ring, his voice tentative.

“Kev?”

“ _Tu me manques,_ ” Kevin blurts out.

“ _Moi aussi. Vraiment._ Are you - is Dean-?”

“Still here, Zaynface,” he says, but it’s quiet. He settles down against the pillow and lets his hip press against Kevin’s knee. “Told you I wouldn’t leave him. Forget about me, I’m gonna crash hard. Your boy wore me out.”

Sami makes a pleased sound. “Did you? Good, Kevin. Tell me how you’re feeling now.”

“Sore. Okay, I guess. Not as weird as usual.”

“I’m really glad you let Dean in. We fucked up, and he wanted to help.”

Kevin tenses all over, Dean can feel it. “I’m sorry,” he says flatly, and shit, it’s not a good tone. “I guess I had to fuck up somehow, and hey, maybe it’s better that it was this instead of the ring.”

“Turn it the fuck off,” Dean says, irritated. “Don’t you get exhausted?”

“What?”

“Being a fucking brat. Zayn, please tell me there’s an off-switch.”

" _Va chier-_ "

"Stop." Sami's tone is - it's like fucking magic. Dean watches Kevin take a breath, not breaking eye contact with Sami over Facetime. "Neither of you are familiar enough with each other to instigate right now."

"I didn't fucking start shit," Kevin says, but it's softer and more amused than angry. "Been reading the thesaurus again?"

"Nothing else to do but rehab and read, Kev."

Dean falls asleep half-listening to them.

***

He must have only drifted off for a bit, Kevin and Sami are still talking. Kevin’s hand is on him, drawing meandering little patterns on Dean’s neck and shoulders. 

“... but I didn’t. I don’t know why.”

“Do you want me to tell you?”

“Yeah.”

“Biting is possessive, but for you, it's also demonstrative. You need people to see what you've done. Those fake-bites on the indies when you just wanted to rile a crowd. Biting Dean wouldn’t really satisfy you. Renee and Seth already know you’re fucking, there’s no one you’d need to see whatever claim you put on him.”

“ _Je peux t’entendre penser, niaiseux_. You have that look. I do not bite you all the time.”

“ _Oui, tu fais._ Pretty sure I could pass off that set of teeth on my hip as a tattoo.”

Dean hums under his breath, lifting his head to speak. “I wanna see. All that pale skin - somebody should mark you up, Zaynface.” Kevin startles, goes to move his hand, but Dean catches it. “No no no, keep your hand where it is. S’nice. You’re touchier than I thought.”

“What’re you doing, Kev?” Sami asks, voice lazy and amused. Making Kevin talk.

“His hair was in his eyes… um, like ten minutes ago? And I like touching his shoulders when he’s laying like this. See?”

He tilts the phone toward Dean, who can now see the little square of Sami on webcam in a threadbare white tee, grinning at Dean. “Nice view, and yeah, I’m also talking about your ass.”

Dean wiggles the body part in question. “Kiss it sometime. Mmm, shame I’m still beat, I can think of a bunch of things to use this camera for.”

“So can I,” Sami responds. “Show me where you bit him. I want to see.”

Kevin hands the phone to Dean, and lies down at the same time as Dean props himself up. He brings the picture into focus, the line of bite marks he left down the center of Kevin’s spine, and Sami says something in French that makes Kevin’s ears go red.

He switches to English for Dean. “I said no-”

“You said, and I quote, _no permanent marks_. These are gonna fade in a day or so.” Kevin makes a quiet, disappointed sound, and Dean reaches down, lets the camera catch his fingers stroking down Kevin’s back. “I know, Kev, you like being marked up. Probably like being the only one to know they’re there. You bruise up so pretty and you’ve always got your gear covering you, fuck, if I were Zayn, you’d have permanent hickeys anywhere I wanted.”

Kevin stretches and makes a thoroughly filthy noise, and Sami laughs. “He’d like that too much. Go to sleep, _cheri_ , we’ll talk tomorrow.” Dean watches Kevin yawn and blow a kiss to the phone, then yanks all the covers over himself. Sami rolls his eyes over Facetime. “Yeah, unless you feel like playing tug-of-war, I’d suggest you find some other blankets.”

“Would you?’ Dean asks, amused.

“I would, but I’m a blanket hog myself. Seth once told us watching us sleep was like watching a particularly violent tennis match.”

Dean hums, noncommittal, and slides to his feet. Goes out into the living room and digs up a blanket for the sofa. He only notices he’s biting his tongue when Sami frowns at the screen.

“Have you ever used a whip or belt on him?” Dean asks.

Sami blinks in surprise, his mouth narrowing. “No. Did he ask for one?”

“No. But he wanted to. And got real fucking mean when he couldn’t spit it out.”

“Asking and being clear about what he wants are hard for him, I did warn you.”

There’s a difference, Dean knows, between having trouble getting words out and the kind of self-loathing it takes to completely deny your own needs. And maybe Sami and Kevin don’t have these sort of issues, but if he’s going to be someone that Kevin reaches out to (or that Kevin will accept), then he needs to know more about why.

“Listen,” he says, “I got a weekend in Pensacola with Roman and the fam coming up in 2 weeks. He’s gonna be with the kiddo on Sunday, and we got a house show in Tampa on Monday. Can I crash on your couch before Tampa?”

“Uh, sure-”

“I’ll bring you some of that vegan crap you like and we can shoot the shit. Like you and your rehab. Like why my weird Canadian girlfriend keeps trying to feed me ketchup chips. And your boyfriend and what we’re gonna do about him.”

Sami nods. “That’s actually a pretty mature plan. Yeah okay, you’re on.”

“Talk later, pass out now.”

He clicks the call off. Kevin’s got four missed texts (two from Seth being a mother hen, one from somebody called Ferg, the other one a dumb meme from Eddie) and an alarm set, so he returns the phone to Kevin’s bedside table. Kevin himself looks like a spiky-haired burrito, only the top of his head peeking out from the blankets - it’s kind of cute.

Blanket thief, huh? Having his own personal space heater sounds better than freezing on the couch, so Dean wraps himself in the spare blanket and slides in behind Kevin. 

He figures if Kevin wants to kick him out of bed, he’ll at least put up a good fight.

**Author's Note:**

> Oof, this one took a village. Many and numerous thanks to my beta Tris, who went through multiple drafts/endings and never once lost her cool, and to Sansese for the French help. Love to Uistic, Em1, Em3, and Chloe for the moral support and talk-therapy, helping me figure out the psychology and characterization of this scene.
> 
> ***  
> je ne peux pas le dire, sir, j’ai seulement besoin de toi - I can’t say it, sir, I just need you  
> Je suis désolé - I’m sorry  
> Crisse - Christ  
> Tabarnak, tu dois - fuck, you need to… (Quebecois)  
> Tu me manques - I miss you  
> Moi aussi. Vraiment. - Me too. Truly.  
> Va chier - fuck off (Quebecois)  
> je peux t’entendre penser - I can hear you thinking  
> niaiseux - jerk/annoyance (Quebecois)  
> Oui, tu fais - yes, you do  
> cheri - darling/sweetheart


End file.
